


Love and Death in Smallville

by Vacillating



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:31:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vacillating/pseuds/Vacillating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Buffyverse/Smallville crossover, because I want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Death in Smallville

**Author's Note:**

> The phrase "Crush Shrine With Funding" appears courtesy of Calli, and thanks are due to Deena for her wonderful betaing.

 

Clark had been angry.

On reflection, Lex supposed that he'd had every right to be.

Lex hadn't waited to hear the threat. He may not have known as much as he'd like about Clark Kent, but the 'has superhuman strength' part was quite obvious, especially when you'd had sex with him.

At first, he'd tried to go out drinking, but after a few glasses he'd realised that anywhere in Smallville was a place he'd seen Clark, or been with Clark, or taken Clark, or thought about Clark while he danced with someone else. Drinking in Smallville was only going to lead to moodiness and brooding and the sort of crying-into-your-drink behaviour that just wasn't right for a Luthor.

Instead, he drove.

He took the midnight blue Ferrari because something about the notion of driving romantically off into the sunset required an open-topped car. Of course, you had to have hair for the wind to ruffle dramatically, but he'd settle for feeling the hum of the engine shake through him and the warm dry air turn chill as he sped through it. While he was driving he could just concentrate on the road, and he didn't have to think about anything else.

He was driving very fast, and that seemed good. He had a sneaking suspicion that before he'd given up on drinking, he'd drunk more than enough to stop him driving safely; and he knew that if he was caught, there'd be hell to paynot the money, but explaining to his father.

Neither thought made him slow down.

He drove west because that was where you went when you were trying to escape the world and its troubles. He had no idea where he was going except for the vaguest idea that he'd like to see the sea again.

If anyone else was driving that night, he didn't notice them.

When dawn cameand it insisted on arriving, although he'd driven hard and fast from the easthe checked into a motel, telling the bored girl on the desk that his name was Mr. Kent. She didn't query it, even when he handed over a credit card that clearly gave his name as Luthor. The signatures matched, and that was enough for her.

He didn't sleep muchhe expected one of his father's goons to appear at any moment, asking just what he thought he was doing, and demanding that he return home at once. He hoped, but didn't let himself expect, that Clark would somehow turn up instead.

Nobody came, and by mid-afternoon he was on the road again.

* * *

When Clark calmed downhe was a little surprised by how quickly he went from rage to despair, once Lex was gonehe went round to Pete's house, and told him what had happened. All of it.

Pete was his best friend, his oldest friend, and he already knew that Clark was an alien. Finding out that Clark was a gay alien who'd had sex with the morally ambiguous son of a billionaire was well, it seemed to be sinking in. Slowly.

"You're *gay*?" Pete said, frowning as he tried to understand. "But but what about Lana?"

"I I thought I had a crush on her. But I don't know," Clark said, a little desperately. "I do like spending time with her. Just not like that."

"Soyou're gay. Okay. Um I you don't me, right?"

"No," Clark said. "You're my best friend, Pete. I don't want you any more than Chloe."

Pete noddedthe 'why Lana and not Chloe?' question was familiar. "Okay. I'll deal with that. What was the next part?"

"I slept with Lex," Clark repeated.

"You slept within a"

"In a bed, Pete. In a sex way."

"You had sex with who again?"

"Lex Luthor," Clark confirmed.

"Right." Pete was still nodding, as if he could settle the information into his head more easily if he kept moving it. "Do your parents know?"

Clark shook his head. "I needed to tell someone, but they I couldn't face that. That's why I'm here instead of at home."

"This has been going on a while, hasn't it?"

"Yeah. Two monthssince a couple of weeks after my birthday."

"So why now?" Pete persisted.

"Because" Clark shrugged. This was the hard part, the part he didn't want to think about. "I broke it off. This evening. He was spying on meand not just on meand I"

"Did the right thing," Pete said, firmly. "I don't understand all of it, Clark, but I think you were right to end it."

"It's not going to be easy, Pete," Clark whispered. "For me or him."

They sat together for a while, enjoying the dark and the companionship. It didn't make Clark any less upset, but it made the upset easier to bear.

* * *

Cars, Lex thought, were a good way of measuring his time in Smallville.

There was the mangled Porsche. The Lincoln Limousine in which they'd first kissed. And now, the Ferrari. 

He wondered if Alexander the Great had been as sentimental about his horses; and on the basis that he named a city after his favourite,  Boukephalas, decided that he probably was.

Maybe he'd name something after one of the cars. No, that seemed silly. Better just to name something after Clark and be done. 

His father wouldn't approve, but that was all the more reason to do it.

Aware that his thoughts were wandering, Lex tried to pull them back to the road, tried to decide where to go or what to do. He had no idea.

All he really wanted was Clarkas a friend if not a loverand that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

He reached the edge of Los Angeles. The sea didn't seem attractive any more. Lex turned north, bought more gas, and kept driving.

Time passed. Lex noticed he was driving uncharacteristically slowlynobody had found him. There didn't seem to be any reason to hurry.

He hit the coast road at last, and stuck with it, dawdling through the sleepy Sunday afternoon of the little towns along the route.

As the sun went down, he drove into yet another. He didn't know where he was, and there didn't seem to be a sign. He'd never know it, but there had been one. He'd missed it because another love- sick driver had recently knocked it over. It said, "Welcome to Sunnydale."

There were just two places selling drinks: The Bronze, a big, sweaty building filled with teenagers who all seemed to look or talk or move like Clark; or Willy's, a nasty, dirty cave where most of the patrons weren't human.

Later, Lex would remember being glad that theTrekkies, or whatever show they were mimickingdidn't remind him of Clark, and appreciate the irony.

He elbowed his way to the bar, gathering some dirty lookssome of the "desire to punch" variety, some of other kindsand bought a drink. Glass in hand, he turned slightly to lean on the bar and survey the room, to find himself eye to eye with a stranger.

"Hi," the guy said, raising a glass of something red and sticky in mockery of a toast. Lex noted the blue eyes and blond hair approvingly. He could let himself be picked up (He was pretty confident that's what the guy was doing. The way he was smiling, the flirting eyes) and be sure that it wasn't just because he was missing Clark. Different body type entirely.

"Hi," Lex said, and drained his glass, enjoying the slight sting of alcohol.

"Trying to get drunk?"

"It seems like the best plan."

"Love troubles?" the guy asked, sliding closer to Lex.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only because I'm looking for it. In the same boat, you see."

"That right?"

"Yeah. I'm leaving town in the morning, going to set things straight with my dark princess."

"You know how?"

"Torture, I'm thinking." Ah, Lex thought, he's into S+M stuff, and probably some Goth as well. The black and red clothes, the tomato juice that makes remarkably convincing blood. And probably poly as well. Ideal.

"Step outside with me," the stranger went on, voice low and British accent getting stronger, mouth only inches from Lex's ear.

"I don't even know your name," Lex said, deliberately playing coy, while at the same time leaning back into the arm that had managed to slide around and insinuate a hand into his back pocket.

"Spike. Pleased to meet you." Okay, so the dictionary entry for 'sexy voice' probably mentioned this guy.

"I'm Lex. Shall we go?"

Spike put down his glass and guided Lex out, arm still possessively round his waist. Lex was pleased and a little scared to note that they collected a fair number of envious glances from other patrons as they passed. More of them wanting the something else than wanting a fight, now.

In the dingy alley, Spike shoved Lex against the rough brick wall, and captured his mouth in a high-impact kiss.Lex noted the extra strength, forced himself not to think of Clark, and kissed back, hard and eager until he could taste blood in his mouth. When Spike pulled back, Lex looked at the blood running down his chin from a bitten lip, and realised that not all the blood in his mouth was his own.

Confused, Lex swallowed, and tried to say something. No time. Spike's hands were in his pants, jerking him off. Face buried in his necksharp teeth, pain and pleasure, moans from both of them and then blackness.

* * *

Lex's death was the biggest new story Chloe had ever covered.

She went round to see Clark, saddened by the news but excited by the prospect of dedicating the whole front page, and a good chunk of the rest of the paper, to the story. Clark hadn't heardwhen she finally found him, still working in the fields despite the impending darkness.

"What? Nobody told you yet?"

"I've been doing farm chores all day," he said, a little dazed. "What how?"

"Nobody's sure of the details. They found him in a back alley of some little town near LA, with puncture wounds in his neckhe bleed to death, the police say. Probably for his money, because there wasn't a wallet on him, and his watch had been taken."

"Oh, God, Chloe. I" Clark took a deep breath, and didn't say any of the things he was thinking. I should have been there. I could have helped him. I shouldn't have made him leave. I'm to blame for this.

"I'm sorry, Clark," Chloe said, a little belatedly. "I know he was your friend."

Clark nodded, taking deep breaths. "T thanks for letting me know, Chloe. I when's the funeral? Where?"

"Probably here in Smallvillenobody knows when, yet, because this is a murder case. Maybe a week or so. Lionel made them bring bring the body back to the mansion."

"Okay." There were tears trying to form in his eyes, and he didn't want Chloe to see. "Looklater, okay?"

"Clark, are you"

"I'm fine, Chloe. I just need some time to let this sink in."

Chloe looked at him, concern in her eyes, but she could see that he didn't want her there. And the work called her, the story waiting to be written. After one last searching look at him, she turned and walked away.

Once he was alone, Clark let himself relax, but the tears didn't fall. It was too much to take in, too much to be true.

When he'd told Lex to get out of his sight he'd assumed it would be a temporary thing; in a town as tiny as the aptly named Smallville he wouldn't manage to go long without bumping into Lex. He'd steeled himself to see Lex again and still reject him. He'd been trying to prepare himself for the torment of knowing that what he wanted was only a few minutes walk or a phone call awayhe'd never thought that he might get what he supposedly wanted.

It wasn't true. He did want to see Lex again, desperately.

He could understand why Lex had been spying, after all: why he'd wanted to read Dr. Bryce's notes on Martha, and why Lex had been trying to gain access to the sample of Clark's blood she'd taken. There were clues there he wouldn't mind having himselfand Lex probably had the scientific knowledge to make use of them.

That didn't stop it feeling like a betrayal of trust. Clark knew that he'd not exactly played fair with Lex, letting his friend open up to him about his family and business, about his feelings, without ever telling Lex the whole truth about himself.

He had done his best, though, within the parameters set by youth, upbringing, and safety. He'd tried to let Lex know that his affection was genuine and that the secrets he kept back were kept for a good reason.

It hadn't been enough; Lex had needed more, tried to get it, and Clark had sent him away. Sent him away to get killed. Murdered and robbed in a dark alley.

Lex was dead, murdered, and Clark knew that it was his fault.

For a moment, the tears came, silent tracks down cheeks that were smeared with the dust of the farm. Then Clark took a deep breath, came to a decision, and sped away in a blur of motion, fast enough to be invisible to normal eyes.

* * *

Luthors didn't do things by halves, Clark thought, as the heavy wooden door of Lex's bedroom swung shut behind him.

Lexthe body, Clark reminded himselfwas laid out on the bed, in a formal suit. He looked a lot like Lex had done in life, except stiller. He wasn't sure how Lionel had managed to get the police to let him go, but he was glad that he could see his lover one last time, and not in a morgue.

For a moment, Clark entertained the notion that this was a joke, that any moment now Lex would be sitting up, breathing again in ragged gasps as he had done on the bridge, the first time they met; laughing at Clark for being taken in, that slightly cynical grin that loved to take advantage of Clark's gullibility.

 

But it didn't happenhe listened, and there was only one heartbeat in the

room, only one set of lungs breathing. Clark wasn't as gullible as he liked to

let Lex think. His lover was dead, and that was terrifying.

 

He took a deep, sobbing breath, blinked sudden salt water out of his eyes,

trying to gather his thoughts. Lex had been murdered, he knew that. He needed to

know what had happened. He needed to make sure that the person who did it was

caughtpunished, hurt, sent to prison or better still Death Row.

Not wanting to touch the body or disturb the formal clothes, Clark used his x-ray vision to examine Lexno broken bones, no bruising just a gaping tear at his neck, the shadow of something digging in deep and ripping, biting draining.

Lex's body was pale, paler than usual, and the veins and arteries had collapsed, nothing in them.

His body had been drained of blood.

Which was weird, even for Smallville. And very puzzling. And, without warning, made Clark feel nauseous.

He couldn't leave fast enough, even at super speed. The door banged behind him, but he didn't hear it.

* * *

Lex did. Perhaps a mystical trigger, perhaps the slamming door; it didn't matter. He woke up, and found that he was dead.

The feeling was new, but strangely familiar. Waking up alive when he should be dead was very similar to waking up dead.

He'd just missed Clark. Lex swore for the first time in his unlife.

He sat on the bed for a moment, noting the dimmed lights, the dramatic candles, and the way that he could *smell* Clarkhay and blood, ink from his school books and a whiff of farmyard.

Then he stood, aware of the power flowing in his body, and of a hunger deep within him. Lex felt his face shift into strange planes as he took another deep breath of the scent of Clark. His lover. His prey.

Lex followed in Clark's footsteps, slower but determined, sure he could trace him anywhere. Especially if the housekeeper would justfangs in her neck, blood in his mouth, like fine wine curing the hangover he hasn't gotstop screaming and let him think.

* * *

The hunt took most of the night. Clark ran, letting the wind take the tears off his cheeks; and Lex tracked him, pushing himself to top speed, testing his new abilities the way he'd test a new car.

Finally, the tears dried on Clark's cheeks. He slowed, then stopped, standing on the top of some nameless hill way out in the fields.

Lex found him there perhaps an hour later, head thrown back to watch the stars twist slowly in the heavens. He looked beautiful in the starlight.

On silent feet, Lex crept until he could have reached out to touch Clark with a relaxed arm, and said, "Hi."

When Clark's feet reached the ground againhe'd jumped at least a foot straight towards the skyhe said, "Lex?"

Then he blinked, hard; and pinched himself, harder; and Lex was still there, smirking.

"That's right, Clark."

"But" Clark said, as intelligently as he could. "But how?" He thought he should still be angry, or upset, or rejecting this, or something. Instead, he only felt happy to have Lex back. Impossible things could be the easiest to accept.

Lex shrugged, an easy rolling motion that hadn't changed at all. That couldn't be right. "How can you run at the speed of sound, or however fast it is you go?"

"I'm an alien," Clark told him, sure this was a dream. "You?"

"Vampire," and there was the smirk again.

"Ah." It probably wouldn't make any more sense when he woke up.

"Are you planning to take over the world, then?"

"Not really." Clark didn't say, the ship says I will. He didn't say, it sounds like fun.

Lex said, "I am. Coming?"

"In which sense?" Clark asked, because this was a game he knew.

"Both." Lex looked like he was going to keep smirking until the end of the world, and Clark moved in for a kiss.

He was surprised when he felt Lex's mouth on his neck instead of somewhere more conventional, like his face; but apparently nowhere near as surprised as Lex was when magically sharpened teeth couldn't break the skin.

They both pulled back, confused.

"You can't hurt me, Lex. I'm an invincible alien."

Lex just nodded.

"Well, unless you've got a stock of green meteor rock handy. It helps, if you want to hurt me. But otherwise" Clark trailed off, aware that he was babbling.

"Where shall we start?"

"With what?" Clark was still confused, so he wrapped his arms around Lex. That was nice and simple, even if his lover's body was cooler than he would expect.

"Taking over the world. We've a destiny to forge out together, you know."

"Oh. Okay."

Lex laughed, a quiet sound that had always carried menace, and kissed Clark.

It was simple. Clark knew that, so he abandoned thought in favour of feeling.

Lex knew it, and left planning until the morning when they'd have hours to hide from the sun, sleeping and plotting.

* * *

Lex allowed Clark to carry him back to the mansion with a minimum of fuss. He liked being in Clark's arms enough that it wasn't worth risking winning an argument.

The heavy curtains had already been drawn, when the now dead housekeeper put the place into proper mourning. Clark dozed for a little while on the sofa; Lex ate the cleaning girl, careful to hide the body (he didn't think Clark wanted to see the direct evidence of his lover's new diet) and then settled down to make a plan, a list of things to do, people to kill.

He'd only reached item 23 ("the board of directors, slowly") when Clark woke up, and suddenly he had something else to do.

They went round the house, testing their powers of recovery and flexibility, confirming their reunion in practically every room. The shower stall shattered into shining glass needles under Lex's vampiric strength (with a little help from Clark, who really should have realised that blow-jobs like that tend to make a person throw their head back violently); the pool table descended into matchwood when Lex, intent on revenge for his bathroom, fucked Clark literally through it; and the Lamborghini, which they both thought of more than once, only escaped because it was still parked in the sunshine.

They had sex in the back seat of the already broken Porsche, instead, in what Lex called his Obsession Room, and Clark, with a happy smirk, referred to as the Crush Shrine With Funding.

Afterwards, they lay on the floor in the dining room, unwilling to move although it was hardly the most comfortable place, and Lex asked, "Won't your parents be expecting you home?"

Clark shrugged one shoulder, an awkward movement that Lex felt more than saw. "Let them worry," he said.

It sealed their pact better even than the sex. They were together, they were Lex wondered for a moment if this was the right word, and then decided it was evil, and they were going to have fun.

They slept then, exhausted by death and running and fucking, while the sun rode past its zenith and started the slow slide back towards evening.

* * *

Epilogue: Report for circulation to all Slayers: the behaviours of the vampire known as "Alexander" and the possible vampire, possible demon, known as "Batman"

(by Lucy-Ann Rayne, Watcher)

N.B.: the names ascribed to these beings have varied dramatically over the two years in which they have been active. "Alexander" is sometimes called "the Great" (mostly by those he has sired), sometimes "the bald one" (and other, even more pejorative names, mostly by those Slayers who have faced him), and it is reported that his companion calls him "Lex", probably a contraction of "Alexander". "Batman" has also been called "Superman",, and "Birdman" after his supposed but unconfirmed ability to fly; and "CK", following Dr Helen Bryce's remarkable paper on the subject.

The simple facts are widely known, and confirmed by textual sources as well as witnesses. Alexander Luthor was the son of businessman Lionel Luthor. He was killed and turned in Sunnydale, in November 1998, by William the Bloody. His body was returned to his home in Kansas, shortly to disappear, classic in true vampire casesin this instance, before burial.

His first acts as a vampire have been documented by other Watchers elsewhere, and need no detail here. In summary, Alexander killed the household staff, probably found his demon companion (if "Batman" is indeed a demon), or turned him (if he is a vampire), and then set off on a bloody vendetta which has yet to be halted.

It has been speculated that Alexander is following a definite plan. The killings have a pattern: they are simple kills, bites on the neck frequently from behind, involving no torture (with one exception, Lionel Luthor), they take place in the victim's home, during the hours of darkness, and the evidence to connect them to Alexander is normally limited to the "calling card", a symbol (similar to the Ancient Athunyon 'kat' sign, with perhaps a longer stem) burnt onto the victim's chest or face. The symbol's origin or meaning has not been traced, though Athunyon is one possible source, as are the Native Americancaves of Smallville.

The victims so far marked in this way have included (we do not suppose this is a complete list; in some cases the bodies have not been identified, and the Watcher's Council may not have been alerted to all kills): Lionel Luthor (father), Lana Lang (Smallville resident), Nell Potter (exact relationship unknown, links with Smallville), Terrance Maydon (high-level Luthor Corp employee), Micheal Ben (shareholder), John Snow (shareholder), Alice Reynolds (shareholder), Thomas Fringedwelling (shareholder), C.J. Malone (shareholder), Christine Honeyburn (society reporter who published articles concerning Alexander's teenage exploits, both before and immediately after his death), Prince William (British royal who met Alexander Luthor at least once in life), and Doctor Virgil Swann (note that there was a much larger burnt area and no bite mark in this case; therefore leading to the supposition that this death may be the work of "Batman" alone.)

Kills are spacedthey appear to involve a fair amount of tracking and planning. These 'marked' kills cannot be Alexander's entire source of blood, and there is some evidence to suggest that he deliberately ensures that he will not require the blood of these victims for his survival. Towns in which these kills have taken place have sometimes reported a rash of other killings, frequently of car salesmen (and meter maids?).

Alexander travels by car (expensive European car, except in Europe, where he favours Japanese makes), either driving himself (at night) or in a blacked out car or limo driven by "Batman" (hence the doubt cast on "Batman"s actual vampiric status, although the Slayer, Buffy Summers, notes that William the Bloody ("Spike") mastered the art of driving in the day time.

It is surely obvious to all that Alexander is a dangerous vampire who must be stopped as soon as possible. The Watcher's Council (Resurrected) requests that all Watchers, Slayers, and other Associated Champions and Warriors of Light do their utmost to speed him to his final grave. Please be aware of the facts, do the local research required, and contact the Council with any sightings or pertinent information.

 


End file.
